


The Boy Who Lived

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M, My First Fanfic, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-12
Updated: 2002-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A darker version of Harry, who finds out what it means to be a legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/)

I.

Why do we have to deify everything unusual? Everything must be immortalized in a legend.

I think everyone has forgotten my name.

"Talking to yourself again, Potter?"

Except one—

"Do you hear me, Potter?"

—who repeats it with snide grace. His is a voice that slithers. He made Hermione cry this morning. She wouldn't even talk to Ron.

A pale hand covers the pages of my book. I read between tapered fingers until they curl.

"Potter."

"Move, Malfoy. You're blocking the light."

Just a snicker, and I look up at him.

"Move."

"Where are your manners, Potter?"

His lips curve into the permanence of a sneer. He looks at Ron and Hermione like that. He greets everyone like that.

"Move, Malfoy."

"So how are Weasel and the Mudblood?"

My knuckles hurt for one aching instant as the book falls to the ground. Flashing eyes stare up at me.

My fist falls.

There's impact and stained blond streaks. His sneer is melting.

I can't see when those tapered fingers reach for me. He brushes my cheek as he shatters beneath me, crumbling.

Hermione cried this morning.

"Harry Potter!"

My name repeated with shock.

"Potter!"

Repeated like prayers.

"Potter, stop this instant!"

They tug at my arms because their legend is dying. I'm supposed to be their great hero. The Boy Who Lived, their savior.

"Stop!"

One more fall, my fist sliding on wet skin.

My fist throbs as something cool is shoved into my hands. I feel the frames of my glasses and put them on my face.

Ron and Hermione stand together in the back. Malfoy's eyes are closed, blood dripping down bruised cheeks.

I told him to move.

II.

The professors talk all at once about my behavior and ask a lot of questions. Points will be deducted from Gryffindor house, and they continue chastising me. I simply nod, mute as my gaze wanders down to my hands.

Their words melt into each other. I only get one useful bit out of it all. I have to apologize to Draco Malfoy. They wouldn't really punish me, of course. They never would.

I walk to the Infirmary, my fingers nonchalantly running along the stone walls. I'm almost tempted to hum a little song, but I'm not really familiar with any that would be appropriate to the moment. So I just let my fingers trail until I reach the Infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey greets me with narrowed eyes before letting me in the room. Malfoy sits up, sneer already in place as I approach him.

His jaw looks a little swollen, his hair swept back for the bandage across his forehead and left temple. Bruised colors surround his eyes, down to his cheeks. I notice the bandage around his left hand as well. They didn't do a very good job of patching him up. Madame Pomfrey has never left any student in such a ... poor condition. Unless they're attempting to make me feel guilty.

I tighten my lips to prevent from smiling. I've recently learned never to regret anything

I hover at the chair by his bed, staring at the white sheets.

"I think you should do this on your knees, Potter."

As if I should bow to _him_.

Sliding into the chair, I fold my hands in my lap. I slowly lift my eyes to his face, to his shimmering gray eyes. Odd, they looked silver in the library. My lips part as I rise from the chair, leaning forward.

I rip the bandage from his head.

He jerks back, then straightens, lightly touching his head as strands of his hair fall, flashing eyes narrowed on me. "Like to watch me bleed, Potter?"

My voice is surprisingly soft.

Craning my head up, I stare into his eyes, leaning a bit closer. "Of course."

His mouth hangs open.

He narrows his eyes. "Mada—"

My fingers reach up to his wound, dipping my hand into the blood red I've decided is my new color.

"Madame Pomfrey!"

He's shouting the wrong name. I thought he understood the way this was supposed to go.

My fingers stain a red trail on his pale cheek, down the curve of his jaw until my fingertips rest at his lips.

"Every god needs a sacrifice."

I straighten, turning my back to him. The bandage slips from my hand.

I walk out the door with the worship of one and the prayers of thousands.

III.

News spreads quickly of the fight between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, specifically Malfoy's defeat. Malfoy, of course, insisted I fought the way Muggles do, not as a Wizard. I fought like an animal, rabid and cruel, unpredictable. How could he have possibly protected himself from such a violent attack? He's lucky he survived the encounter at all.

But news of the incident in the Infirmary spread even quicker. Lavish tales only Malfoy could produce. Madam Pomfrey had to mend his poor broken arm, then Professor Snape informed him of my punishment. So, of course, he agreed that I needed to see the damage done. He could hardly lift his head or open his eyes. Malfoy told everyone of how I threw the chair across the room and raved about my punishment. I nearly suffocated him with the pillow at one point. I've even heard a bit about actually licking the blood from his wound like a beast.

He doesn't realize yet that he lost.

He glares at me every time we see each other, but he hasn't said very much. I've noticed him hanging around a lot now, stalking past me in the halls, staring at me in class. I've seen him lingering outside classes we don't even share.

How desperate we become for a little affection. He needs something to believe in.

Just like everyone else.

I sit near Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Ron grins, and Hermione's lips tighten as her eyes slightly narrow in her disapproving matron stare. I clamp my mouth shut to stop a chuckle. She's not fond of violence.

"Wow, Harry. So you had to apologize to Malfoy?" Ron asks.

"You're lucky you weren't expelled," Hermione said, head tilted to the side. "Are you all right, Harry?"

I smile at her. "I'm fine, Hermione."

"Yeah, and Malfoy got what he deserved." Ron nods.

"Still, Harry, it's just not like—"

"Oh come on, 'Mione." Ron grinned, patting me on the back. "Harry's The Boy Who Lived."

Because I'm the Boy Who Lived. I glance at Ron. I'm more than that now.

And still, no one knows my name.

I push my glasses up and stand.

"Where you going, Harry?" Ron stares at me.

"I"—I offer a feeble smile of apology—"I don't feel very well. I think I'm just tired. I'm going to rest."

"Yeah, you need your sleep and all."

"You should study for that Transfiguration exam tomorrow too. Don't forget."

"Always with the studying. We—"

I walk away, the rest of their words falling behind me as I walk out of the Dining Hall. My eyes slide to the Slytherin table, and yet again, Malfoy glares at me, his sneer back in place.

I smile at him.

IV.

I'm alone in Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays, except for the few others who are as homeless as I used to be. Things have changed now, and I don't need a home when I have Hogwarts. It's filled with all the people I need.

He avoids me as best as he can, except in the Dining Hall for meals when we're surrounded by the few other students.

Without Ron and Hermione, I mostly keep to myself, talking to a few of the Gryffindors, who insist on talking to me and following me. The attention is becoming much more than simply wanting to shake my hand. It's as if I'm only real if they touch me. There's a hope in all their faces. I'm much more comfortable with it now than I was before.

One evening, I lounge in a chair, leaned back and melting into the warmth filling the Slytherin common room. The silver and green colors are actually rather drab.

"Potter."

I smile, my hands clenching at the arm rest, my breath pausing to absorb the one voice that can never forget me.

I don't turn my head to look at him.

"You're not allowed in here," Draco says. "How did you even get in?"

I hear his robes swishing along the floor, then my gaze moves up to his tightened jaw, to his flashing eyes, once more a stormy silver. His voice still slithers, soft and quiet.

I smile. "Now that's my little secret, isn't it?"

"Get out, Potter, or I'll—"

"You're usually not here for Christmas, Malfoy. I heard that your parents went away."

He leans back, arms crossed over his chest, his shield in place.

"At least I can say I have parents, Potter."

"I heard they forgot all about you, Malfoy. They just decided to let Hogwarts have you for a time until you've learned that Malfoys don't get beaten. Especially by a Muggle loving Harry Potter." My smile broadens. "Twice."

His jaw clenches, his veins pulsing a pale blue beneath his skin. I rise to my feet, taking a step forward until I stand right in front of him.

"Going to catch me off guard this time, Potter?" He reaches for his wand, and I grasp his hand loosely.

"I'm still here." I take another step forward, leaning closer to him. I want him to listen to me. "I'll never forget you, Draco." My grip slightly tightens. "The way your parents have forgotten. Just cast you aside as if you're worthless because they can't see you."

He jerks his hand from my grip. "And who's going to remember you when you're gone, Potter? Legends are so easily forgotten these days."

I tilt my head to the side. "But I'm not a legend anymore, now am I?"

He smirks. "You're a whining twit."

I lean close to him again, and he steps back. He keeps moving away, but I take his hand once more. "Power speaks for itself. Whatever name you put on it, it's still power."

He's been trying to hide from me. My fingers trail down his palm as I pull away.

But gods see everything.

V.

Just one more day before everyone comes back and classes begin again. I walk from the library, down the hall, noticing the echoing emptiness shattered by the soft rustle of my robes and the steady pace of my steps.

My shoulders ache as my head bounces back, hitting the solid wall behind me. I haven't been pushed in a very long time. My glasses slip, clatter to the floor, but I smile. I don't need perfect sight to recognize the gray eyes, the pale skin, the perfect hair.

"Mal—"

"Things could become very dangerous here for you, Potter."

I grasp his shoulders and push him back, bending down to pick up my glasses. Sliding them back on, I stare at Malfoy as I slowly straighten.

He's so confused.

My fingertips brush the curve of his jaw, and he jerks back. "Madam Pomfrey is very good at healing."

"You're about to see how—"

"But there are some things she just can't heal, can she?"

His lips part.

And he's warm. My tongue slips between his soft lips as he leans against me, suspended in my arms for a moment before I step away from him.

I know what he wants, even if he doesn't.

I know everything.

He pushes me against the wall again, and I adjust my glasses back on my face. My palms press flat against the cool stone as I wait.

"Temper, temper, Draco."

His fist clenches at his side, his body trembling.

"Or do you want something else?"

"Potter—" He stops, blinking.

"Yes, Draco?"

He leans toward me, his venomous voice falling to a hiss. "Malfoys don't lose."

My arm snakes around him, my hand resting at the back of his neck, my fingers curling through his hair. "This isn't about winning or losing anymore." My lips hover inches from his, his warm breath caressing my lips. "I'm offering you more than your parents give you." My breath quivers against his lips. "If you ask nicely."

He stands there as I walk away. I don't turn to look at him because I already know.

He's one of my faithful.

Even if he doesn't realize it yet.

VI.

It's our little game.

He tries to avoid it, but I see him. Like now. I sit in the library, glancing through a book on transfiguration. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him, a soft blur in my peripheral vision. He sits alone in a corner, away from sight.

Gently closing my book, I rise to my feet and walk to him. He glances up at me and slowly closes his book, eyes narrowed.

My hands rest lightly upon his shoulder.

Sneer in place, again. So predictable. "You again, Potter."

My thumb runs lightly over the back of his neck. "Just seeing how you're doing."

His sneer quivers when I lean close to him. "So how are you, Draco?"

He brushes off my hands. This is a new robe, and I would prefer that you not soil it."

I lightly run my fingers down his arm. "But we could have a lot of fun doing just that."

He grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers together. "Next time, you could be punished. You could get kicked out of Hogwarts."

"Do you really believe that?"

He tosses my hand away, returning his eyes to his book as he stands. "Surprises happen."

"So you think you could actually win?" I laugh.

My jaw hurts for one aching instant as I stare up at Draco. He actually hit me. I lightly touch my lip, drawing away my finger and staring at the blood streaks.

Draco kneels in front of me and leans close with a satisfied glimmer in his eyes and his habitual sneer.

"Surprise, Potter."

My fingers reach up and smear my color across his lips.

"I guess this is your nice way of asking."

My other hand grabs the front of his robes, and I jerk him toward me. He topples as our lips slam together, my tongue sweeping into his mouth. I feel his hand clutching at my shoulders as his body melts against mine-snake and lion entwined.

And we secretly meet like this when no else is lurking around, maybe between the endless shelves of the library for a quick kiss. Sometimes, he steals a lingering touch in the hall. There are so many places to hide, to let loose all the beautiful secrets caresses can reveal.

He lingers in my bed, his scent hot and needing. His skin is soft against my roughened hands. The soft texture of his hair loosens from its perfection between my fingers. Clothes so easily get lost in devotion.

He doesn't hide from me anymore. He really sees me now, watching me, nestled in my arms.

The others don't even see me anymore.

That's all right, though. I'm standing in my temple, and they're all around me, feeding me whispered prayers.

Only a few know my name. Only a few utter it.

But I always hear that slithering voice coiling around me in the night, a warm breath against my skin.

"Harry." I stop when I hear that same voice.

"Yes, Draco?"

He takes a step toward me, licking his lips, eyes fixed on me.

My lips slide into a smile, my palm pressed against his chest. "Not here, Draco."

He smiles back, falling into my arms. I rest my hand on his waist, prepared to push him away—

I feel pain.

I feel a draining pain.

I hear screams as I stare at my color spilling onto the hall floor, spreading out and snaking across the stone ground. Draco's lips are warm against mine. His eyes are glazed wide pools, his hand tightly gripping mine.

"It had to happen, Harry." His arms enfold me, his cheek pressed against mine. I feel like I'm on a boat, the waves rocking me to sleep. "They only see you as a hero-to-be. You're more than that. But they can't see that if you're still here, still alive."

I want to laugh at the irony of it all. Look at what our faithful do.

I just hear his voice.

"Gods never die, Harry."

My last prayer.

"Now you're a god."


End file.
